


night of south winds — night of the large few stars

by blueblueelectricblue



Series: a star spinning in orbit, lighting up the sky [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Diapers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 17:12:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19795336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueblueelectricblue/pseuds/blueblueelectricblue
Summary: It's just two weeks until Christmas and Steve gets a call to join the Avengers for a last-minute mission. Healmostmakes it home before melting down and begging Daddy to come get him. Bucky, whose motto (aside from "Knife? What knife?") is "preparation, preparation, preparation," comes to the rescue as fast as a DC taxi can allow for - and with a big tip, that's pretty fast.(Or, the one where I just make stuff up about Joint Andrews Base and its inner workings because I have absolutely not a clue what goes on there that Google Maps can't show me.)





	night of south winds — night of the large few stars

It’s a crisp early-December evening when Steve gets the call to be at Andrews Air Force Base within the hour; the king of Symkaria has requested the Avengers’ assistance in repelling an attempted Latverian invasion. Normally this wouldn’t be within their purview, but the invaders are Doombots, and the Avengers have had extensive experience in turning Doctor Doom’s robot army into scrap metal over the past six months. Bucky can tell what the call means without even listening in – it’s sort of hard to hear it anyway, what with the ambient noise from the Downtown Holiday Market – because of the way Steve’s expression changes as he listens.

“I’ll be there,” he says before hanging up and shoving his phone into his back pocket with some violence. “ _Ugh_.”

“Where are you going this time?” Bucky asks.

“Fucking Symkaria. Doom’s trying it again.”

“You want to run home to get anything first?”

“No, it’s fine. Nat’s on her way to pick me up now and I’ll change on the Quinjet.”

“Where are you meeting her?”

“In front of CVS on 8th and E.”

“Walk you there?”

“Please.”

Bucky laces their gloved hands together as they walk the block and a half, getting there just as Natasha pulls up to the curb in her glossy black sports car and rolls her window down to talk to them.

“Good timing,” she says cheerfully.

“How’d _you_ get here so fast?” Bucky wants to know.

“Oh, this is my week to follow you around.” Natasha grins.

“What, you have a rotation or something?” Steve asks.

“Of course we do. You’re a reckless do-gooder, Steve,” she explains.

“That makes sense. Can I at least have a minute to say goodbye?”

“I think I can make an exception, Barnes. But you get _one_ minute. Aniana’s power grid has already been knocked out and the bots are gunning for the water supply next.” Her grin disappears and is replaced by a blankness that would be worrisome if they didn’t know her – it’s really Natasha’s work-mode face. She tends to abandon most niceties when there’s something that requires her laser-bright focus.

“Accelerated siege warfare,” Steve murmurs. “Cut off all the important services first.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Bucky tugs Steve close for a long, hard kiss. “Be careful,” he says.

“I don’t wanna go,” Steve whispers, sounding very small all of a sudden.

A klaxon starts blaring in Bucky’s head; Steve hasn’t been little since right after Thanksgiving, and now is just…not the time, obviously. Nor can either of them explain any of this to Natasha. Steve would probably rather die than tell her, and Bucky doesn’t think it’s her business anyway.

“I know, and I’d rather have you here with me too,” Bucky whispers back, hoping he’s projecting an aura of calm to steer Steve back into adulthood even though he seriously hates himself for doing it – and because of who’s watching. He likes Natasha, but sometimes she’s too sharp for his taste. “But if it’s anything like the last couple of times, you’ll be home by tomorrow morning.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah.”

“Kiss me again for the road,” he says a little louder for effect. “I’m gonna need it to keep me warm on the walk back to the apartment.”

Steve obliges, and Bucky squeezes him a little harder than usual before letting go.

“All yours, Romanov. Make sure to bring him back in one piece, will you?”

“Sorry, but I can’t promise that. They made me sign this waiver and all…”

“I’ll settle for alive.”

“Do I get a say in any of this?” Steve asks mildly, opening the car door.

“No,” Bucky and Natasha say at the same time.

“I hate you guys.”

“Is that any way to talk to the man who’s gonna have panettone French toast ready when you get home?”

Steve brightens up a little at that. “And bacon?”

“Of _course_ we’re gonna have bacon, Steve. You think this is amateur hour?”

Bucky keeps the smile on his face until he’s damn sure that Steve can’t see his expression from the rearview mirror anymore and then starts the walk back to their apartment. It feels much, much longer than the half-hour it takes in actuality.

\--

Bucky has already consumed an entire pot of coffee, started a load of laundry, cleaned the master bathroom, made a batch of cinnamon apples and gotten it into the fridge, and set the sliced-up panettone on a rack to get stale for French toast when Steve calls the next day, a little after noon. It’s later than Bucky had anticipated, but he’s glad to see Steve’s photo pop up on his cell phone.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky greets him. “How’d it go?”

He’s wholly unprepared for the answer he gets, which is the sound of Steve’s full-on sobbing.

“What happened?” A frisson of fear shoots its icy way up Bucky’s spine. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“No,” Steve finally manages, his voice thick with tears and exhaustion, bouncing off the tiled walls of what must be a bathroom somewhere.

Bucky can’t tell if that means _no, I’m not all right_ or _no, I’m not hurt_ , so he tries again. “Are you hurt?”

“A little…”

“Did anyone else get hurt?”

“No…”

“What’s going on, Stevie? Talk to me,” he says, hoping he sounds reassuring.

“Need you. Come get me?”

_Oh, fuck_.

Steve is clearly in headspace now, which means he’s dropped extra-hard; he’s _never_ been little before making it home after a mission. Bucky just hopes that there isn’t anyone around to witness it – not just because of the PR nightmare that would ensue but for Steve’s own sake. He’s so sensitive about being noticed, and the one place he’s even more visible than usual is a military base. Bucky makes a beeline into their bedroom to grab the diaper bag and then to the side table by the front door so he can get his wallet and keys, even as he keeps talking.

“Of course I can,” Bucky tells him. “Are you at Andrews?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is anyone with you, Stevie?”

“Nuh-uh. By myself.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, all right?”

Another sob.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Bucky soothes, locking the door behind him and hoping Steve can’t hear his feet thudding on the stairs. “I’ve already left the house and I’m on my way right now. Can you tell me where you are on the base?”

He can hear Steve making a concerted effort to get himself together. “Visitors’ center. Got a ride from some officers leaving the airstrip for lunch.”

“Good, that’s good, Stevie.” It is, actually. Bucky can’t get inside on his own merit, even though he does have a military ID. “Can you do something for me in the meantime?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know you’re upset, but can you try to calm down some? Take some deep breaths. Wash your face and drink some water, maybe?”

Steve takes a long, shaky breath before he answers. “Okay.”

“And then I want you to find somewhere to sit down until I get there. Why don’t you play that candy-matching game you like?”

A sniffle, which is at least some progress from a few minutes ago. “Okay.”

“I’ll be right there, Steve, I promise.” Bucky’s planted himself in the right lane of the street with his free arm lifted.

“I know.”

“Just breathe. You’re gonna be okay.” A grey-and-red taxi screeches to a halt next to him. “I’m getting in the cab now and I’ll see you soon, all right?”

“All right.”

“Love you lots, Stevie.”

“Love you more.”

Bucky’s surprised that Steve’s the first to hang up, but there’s no time to dwell on that right now. “Hey, thanks, sorry about that.”

“No problem,” says the taxi driver. “Where to?”

“Joint Base Andrews, the visitor control center. There’s an extra twenty on top of the regular tip if you can get me there in half an hour.”

The driver’s eyebrows shoot up and practically disappear into his hairline; the ride _should_ take about 40 minutes, as they both know. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, man. I know I’m asking a lot.”

“You late for a meeting or something?” the driver asks as he cuts off a bicyclist to swing right onto 16th Street.

“Yeah, something like that.”

The driver somehow – Bucky has no idea how, exactly – gets them there in just a hair over 25 minutes. Bucky’s pretty sure they’ve broken at least one law of physics, not to mention all the actual traffic laws. But, whatever, nobody got hurt and nothing’s been damaged, so he hands over the extra twenty and then another twenty. It’s worth the money to be able to keep his promise to Steve.

“Thanks, boss,” the guy says with a grin. “You can hail me anytime.”

Bucky nods in return as he exits the back seat. “Much appreciated.”

The driver takes off again, and Bucky digs through his wallet to produce his military ID for inspection by an MP, a young woman with an impassive expression until she makes the connection between his name and who he’s asking to see.

“Oh, yes, sergeant, he’s here,” she says brightly. “He’s with Colonel Blanchard in her office now.”

“Thanks, Airman Zhang. I hope you’ll be the one who escorts me there, since I have absolutely no idea where I’m going,” Bucky says easily, like it’s no big deal.

That’s one thing HYDRA had taught him well – the art of social engineering. Put anyone who might be suspicious at ease with friendliness, familiarity, and confidence; walk in like you know exactly what you’re doing, and nine times out of ten they’ll buy it and let you go wherever or do whatever you want, no questions asked.

“I’d be glad to, sir! I wish we’d known you were stopping by,” the airman answers as she starts leading him toward the back of the building. “We could have just sent you right on through.”

“It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing.” Bucky flashes her the smile he’s seen in old photos of himself. “I don’t think Captain Rogers exactly planned on getting hurt, but I know the drill by now.”

Airman Zhang laughs, stopping them in front of a closed door at the end of the hallway. “Yes, I’d bet you more than anyone else would know it. Here we are, sir.”

“Thanks so much.”

“Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Sergeant Barnes!” She raps twice on the door, and the door swings open.

“Hello,” says the woman who must be Col. Blanchard.

“Good afternoon, colonel. I’m here to pick up that stray captain you’ve been keeping for me. Hope he hasn’t been giving you any trouble,” Bucky says lightly.

“No more than most captains,” she replies, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Good to meet you, ma’am.” Bucky extends his hand.

Col. Blanchard shakes it with a firm authority that he instantly likes. “Likewise, Sergeant Barnes. Captain Rogers has told me a lot about you.”

“I hope only the good parts.”

“Mostly,” she replies facetiously.

She stands aside so Bucky can enter the room, where Steve’s seated in the chair across from her desk. He’s still in his Captain America uniform, which is dirty and streaked with god knows what, but his face is clean, a sign that Steve had actually listened to Bucky earlier. His posture is ramrod-straight and his shoulders are locked into squares – so he’s probably more hurt than he’d led Bucky to believe earlier – and he’s got his Captain America smile on too, the one Steve reserves for the cameras.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky greets him and holds up the duffel bag. “Brought you a change of clothes.”

Only Bucky could detect the shadow of relief that flits across Steve’s expression as he replies in his bright PR voice, “Thanks, Buck. Sorry to be such a pain, but I left my bag on the Quinjet by mistake and didn’t want to wind up paying extra to have the Uber cleaned.”

“No problem.”

Steve hauls himself to his feet, and by his stiff, jerky movements Bucky’s suspicions are proven; Steve’s definitely hurt. Not “fell 20 feet out of a ventilation shaft and onto a concrete floor” hurt, but injured nonetheless, and more than he’d let on when he’d called.

“Thanks for the chat, ma’am,” Steve says to Col. Blanchard as they shake hands.

“I should be thanking _you_. This got me out of a budget meeting I _really_ didn’t want to go to,” she answers with a laugh.

“It was great to meet you. Hopefully next time I won’t look…well. Like this. Sorry.” Steve makes a gesture that encompasses his filthy uniform.

“What’s a battle if you don’t get a little dirt on you, right?” Col. Blanchard adjusts her hat to a jauntier angle. “Unfortunately, I _do_ have to go to the next meeting on my calendar. Please feel free to use my office, Captain. Airman Zhang will wait outside to escort you out when you’re done, but take all the time you need.”

The second the door closes behind her, Steve drops the Captain America smile along with the tension in his shoulders in what Bucky can only describe as a full-body sag and immediately looks close to tears again.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, reaching out to take his hand. “It’s okay. I’m here, see?”

“I wanna go home,” Steve whispers, clutching Bucky’s hand so hard that if he weren’t also enhanced, it’d probably pop his knuckles out of joint.

“We’re gonna go home soon, but first let’s get you into some comfier clothes.”

“But they’ll get dirty.”

“So what? You can have a bath when we get home and I’ll just put everything into the laundry.”

Steve looks doubtful but nods anyway. “M’tired.”

“I know, buddy.” Bucky tugs him closer so he can start undoing all the Velcro, zippers, and buttons that keep the Captain America uniform in one piece. It’s such a stupid design, really. And it’s bulkier than it looks. Not for the first time, he wonders how the fuck Steve manages to move around so easily in this thing. Fuck, how does he even _pee_ in this thing? Bucky’s going to have to ask him sometime, because this is the _dumbest_.

“M’hungry too,” he adds, wincing when Bucky gets to what must be a bruise.

Bucky finishes getting the top off and folds it as best he can, leaving Steve in his Under Armour shirt. “If you look inside the bag, I brought one of your protein bars to hold you over.”

Steve does and devours as he holds up one foot after the other for Bucky to get his boots off, even though it clearly causes him a bit of pain to do so.

“Just a little bit more,” Bucky murmurs, working on the uniform pants now.

Steve squawks in protest when Bucky pulls them down along with his boxer shorts, but remembers where he is just in time before getting any louder.

“No!” he hisses upon seeing the pull-up.

“Yes, Steve.”

“Don’t _need_ it!”

“Step in,” Bucky says. “Nobody’s going to see it.”

“Please, no, don’t make me,” Steve begs in a whisper.

“It’s only for just in case you fall asleep on the way home,” he replies quickly, not wanting this to turn into A Huge Scene. “Please just do it, Steve. The sooner we get you dressed, the sooner we can leave. Nobody’s going to notice. It’s a daytime one, see?”

Steve makes sure to throw Bucky an expression of extreme suffering as he steps into the pull-up and loose-fitting sweatpants retrieved from the bag, but it turns real when he tries to help take off his shirt, and he whimpers in pain. Bucky pulls him into a hug, careful not to squeeze him too hard.

“Hurts.”

“I know it does.” Bucky kisses his cheek. “Let’s just leave your shirt on for now and worry about getting it off later, okay?”

“Mm-hm.”

Steve’s quiet as he sits down for Bucky to put on his socks for him and then a pair of beat-up old running sneakers, and he allows Bucky to help him stand up again. Bucky gets the uniform and boots into the bag somehow – he really has no idea how he manages it, considering how damn huge Steve’s feet are – and sets an Uber pick-up for the next five minutes.

“You ready?”

Steve nods.

“I need you to be big for just a little bit longer, until we get into the car,” Bucky tells him. “Can you do that?”

“Uh-huh.” Steve doesn’t look too convinced, though.

“Just a couple of minutes, Stevie,” Bucky reassures him.

Steve responds by grabbing the bag and straightening up again, but he lets Bucky loop their arms together as they walk out and meet Airman Zhang, who’s still delighted as can be by their presence. She doesn’t ask for a photo, though, or even an autograph, for which Bucky is profoundly grateful. The Uber meets them almost as soon as they make it to the pick-up point, and once they’re inside Steve curls up against Bucky so closely that he’s honestly smothering Bucky a little. Not that it’s a big deal, or that Bucky would make it into one; Steve’s clearly had a hard enough day without being denied the physical contact he so clearly needs right now.

They don’t talk on the ride home – well, _Steve_ doesn’t talk, even though Bucky tries for some time and finally gives up because it’s obvious that he isn’t going to until they’re indoors again. It takes the better part of an hour to finally make it to their apartment in Dupont Circle because rush hour is already starting to dig its claws into the Beltway, which doesn’t make either of them happy. But it is what it is, and Steve, rather impressively, manages to keep himself together until Bucky’s locked the front door behind them.

“Let’s get some food into you, yeah?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah.” For once, Steve doesn’t sound enthusiastic about the prospect of a meal.

“How about we have some sandwiches for now and breakfast for dinner instead?” he suggests. “It’ll be quicker, and then we can get you that bath.”

“Okay.”

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand. “C’mon, kiddo.”

He puts together some ham and cheese sandwiches in what’s probably record time, adding orange slices and some chips to their plates, but he runs into trouble when he goes to add the sippy top to Steve’s favorite cup after filling it with ice water.

“No!” Steve snaps.

Bucky flinches; he still doesn’t do well with loud, sudden noises, especially when they come from behind his back. “No? Are you sure?”

“Not a baby.” His eyebrows are practically conjoined, Steve’s frowning so hard.

Bucky holds his hands up in mock-surrender. “Okay, _jeez_.”

Steve accepts the cup offered to him with both hands, mollified, and throughout the meal makes a point of being very careful when Bucky’s looking so that he doesn’t spill water everywhere. Bucky chooses to ignore this and focuses on his own food instead. Steve will eventually relax, and reacting now would only give him the fight he’s clearly looking to pick. But it’s concerning, given that normally, Steve only tries picking fights with Bucky when he’s an adult. Bucky hopes like hell there’s nothing going on that a hot bubble bath and some cuddles can’t fix, because otherwise he’s at a loss.

“Bath?” Steve wants to know through a mouthful of his last orange slice.

“Yes, it’s bath time. And please don’t talk with food in your mouth, Steve.”

He swallows the orange and then opens his mouth so Bucky can see that it’s clear.

“You want me to carry you?” he offers when he’s done putting their plates and cups in the dishwasher.

“ _No_. Big.” Steve looks positively mutinous now, shoving his chair away from the kitchen table and standing up.

“Okay.” Bucky offers his hand, but this time Steve doesn’t take it.

He does at least let Bucky help him undress, which seems to be easier now that some time has elapsed and Steve seems to have healed up a little more. Bucky isn’t surprised when he sees the bruises after finally getting that tight Under Armour shirt off – they’ve been through this with prior Doombot encounters plenty of times already – or that Steve’s pull-up is wet. (Bucky says nothing about either.) Steve spends so long in the tub that Bucky has to refill it three times with more hot water and bubbles. Actually, the first refill had been a good idea; the water was filthy within minutes, especially after washing Steve’s hair. The rest of the refills have been more for comfort than out of necessity.

“S’cold,” Steve complains for what is now the fourth time.

“Yeah, that means it’s time to get out, buddy,” he says gently, hoping it won’t provoke a firestorm.

He’d hoped wrong.

“No!” Steve shouts, anger darkening his blue eyes and his posture turning rigid. “Won’t!”

Bucky can’t stop himself from wincing; their bathroom has great acoustics for when you want to sing in the shower, but not so great when you’re already only about two feet from the original source of an incredibly loud noise.

“You’ve been in here for awhile now, and it’s time to get you dried off and ready for a nap.”

Steve brings his hands down into the water, and hard, sending a spray in Bucky’s direction that he narrowly dodges. “Don’t _wanna_!”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Steve. C’mon. Up.” Bucky holds his hands out for Steve to grab onto, but again Steve doesn’t take them.

“No, Daddy, I don’t _wanna_.”

Bucky scrubs his hand through his hair in frustration. “You _cannot_ sit in the tub all day. I’m gonna count to three to give you the chance to get up. One…two…two and a half…two and three quarters…two and four-fifths…”

He pauses, because Bucky’s never actually gotten to three before, but Steve hasn’t moved an inch.

“Three.” Bucky reaches over and pulls the stopper out to let the water drain away for good this time.

Steve still doesn’t move.

Bucky sighs, reaching over to snag Steve’s towel from the bar on the wall it’s draped over. “I really didn’t want to have to do this, but you haven’t left me with a choice, Stevie,” he says.

Before Steve can react, Bucky wraps him in the towel and hauls him out of the tub, then settles Steve on his hip. Steve immediately launches his offensive to wriggle out of Bucky’s grasp and fails – as was inevitable, given that Bucky’s got him anchored with the metal arm – and bursts into tears. Bucky feels like the world’s biggest asshole, but he doesn’t stop moving until he’s sitting on their bed with Steve in his lap. He’s not at all surprised when Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck and twists his fingers in the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt, because no matter how upset Steve is, he _always_ wants Bucky, even when Bucky’s the cause of said upset.

Bucky rubs Steve’s back and, when that fails to work, rocks him, crooning into his ear until he tapers down into sniffles and the occasional hiccup. Steve doesn’t pull away or even pick up his head for some time, drawing in a few shivery breaths as he finally stops crying altogether.

“Hey, lovebug,” Bucky says softly, once he’s sure Steve is actually listening to him. “Can you tell me what’s got you so upset today?”

He feels rather than sees Steve shaking his head.

“Words are hard right now, huh?”

Steve makes a noise that roughly approximates an affirmative.

“Okay, Stevie.” Bucky drops a kiss on the top of Steve’s damp head. “We’ll talk after you have a rest.”

Now, a long, low whine – one Bucky recognizes as “I’m very tired and clearly need to sleep but I don’t want to go to bed.” He gets this one a lot when Steve’s little.

“I’ll stay and we can cuddle until you fall asleep, how does that sound?”

Bucky can feel Steve’s nod.

“Good choice, love.” Bucky kisses Steve’s hair again. “I’ll help you get ready and we can lie down together.”

Steve whines a little when Bucky puts a diaper on him but seems to forget all about it when he’s dressed in his lion kigurumi, and he even manages a faint smile when reunited with his favorite blanket. Steve buries his face in it for a while, sliding his fingers along the satin edge while Bucky kicks off his shoes and shimmies out of his jeans, leaving them on the floor next to his side of the bed to pick up later.

As soon as Bucky lies down, Steve rolls over to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder, curling around his blanket as if he’s afraid someone is going to take it from him.

“Sorry I was bad, Daddy,” Steve whispers.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. I know you’re having a rough day.” Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, and Steve leans into the touch. “But I want you to close your eyes now. Okay?”

“’Kay.” A few minutes later, Steve’s snoring lightly with his thumb in his mouth.

Bucky realizes quickly that he can’t move just yet without running the risk of waking Steve, but he doesn’t mind much. It’s never a hardship to cuddle up with Steve, who’s essentially a human furnace, especially after a night of having slept alone. Bucky hopes that when Steve wakes up he’ll feel more like talking; he usually does once he’s had some rest, but who knows? Today’s already seen a lot of firsts for them, most of them not exactly awesome, so Bucky figures he’ll settle for a slightly calmer second half of the day.

After a little while, Steve’s relaxed enough that Bucky can gently disengage and slide out of bed, and the first thing he does is switch out the laundry he’d abandoned earlier into the dryer, figuring he can fold it before Steve wakes up. He tosses the cleaning rags he’d used on the bathroom this morning into the washer with a good amount of bleach, because Bucky _really_ doesn’t want them sitting on the laundry room floor all gross and damp for god knows how long before he actually remembers to do it, and then goes to make a pot of coffee.

Bucky spends the next couple of hours making his way through it while he alternately reads a novel, folds clothes, and pokes his head into their bedroom every so often to check on Steve. It occurs to Bucky that his mom would laugh herself silly if she could see him now – he wasn’t exactly the neatest person in the world until the army had forced him into it. (The words Steve had used to describe Bucky’s childhood bedroom were along the lines of, “like a tornado and a grenade had an argument in your closet and they both lost.”) But he enjoys it now, the act of setting things in their proper places and seeing the results of labor expended. Bucky finds it calming to run a dust rag over their bookshelves, to polish the dining room table and chairs until they gleam in the afternoon sunlight, to scrub the kitchen from top to bottom – he even enjoys hauling out the steam cleaner every once in awhile and shampooing the carpets. It’s kind of amazing how much dirt Bucky can get out of them, especially given that they rarely wear shoes indoors.

He’s just tossed the now-clean rags into the dryer when he hears Steve calling for him, and Bucky’s relieved to find a much calmer boy than the one he’d put to bed.

“Daddy, s’almost dark outside,” Steve says in amazement when Bucky opens the curtains.

“Yeah, it is, buddy. You slept for a good while.” Bucky sits down on the bed and ruffles Steve’s hair. “Feeling better?”

Steve immediately wriggles his way into Bucky’s lap, leaning back against him for support. “Little bit.”

“Seems like it’s a little easier for you to move around than it was before.”

He nods. “Not too bad now.”

“You ready to talk about it, Stevie?”

“Um.” Steve bites at his lower lip. “Do I hafta?”

“No, you don’t have to, but I hope you will. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Bucky tells him. “Did something happen?”

Steve’s quiet as he fiddles with his blanket for a few minutes. “Was too much,” he whispers finally.

“What was too much?”

“Everything.”

Bucky supposes he shouldn’t be terribly surprised by that answer. “Can you tell me more?”

“Too many robots. Too much noise. Too much fighting. Too much talking.” Steve’s words are slow in coming at first, but they pick up steam quickly. “Kept getting hit an’ it hurt. No food, no rest until the Quinjet again. Then _more_ talking and I _still_ wasn’t home. Then I forgot my bag an’ Tony already flew away by the time I remembered so I couldn’t just ask him to come back an’ I…” He sighs.

“That _is_ a lot. You must have been pretty overwhelmed by the time you called me.”

“M’sorry, Daddy, I tried.” Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Stevie.”

“No?”

“No,” Bucky says firmly. “I _always_ want you to tell me when it’s too much and you need my help.”

Steve picks his head up to look at Bucky. “I wanna help people, but – it’s hard an’ it never stops an’ I’m tired.”

“Well, it’s hard work, Steve. And you haven’t had a break in a long time.”

“October?”

“That was because you were hurt,” Bucky reminds him. “It’s not the same thing.”

Steve’s quiet again for a minute or two. “I don’t wanna stop. Not for good.”

“You don’t have to stop for good if you don’t want to. That’s always your decision, Steve. But maybe just for a little while?”

“Yeah. I think so,” he admits.

Good thing Bucky’s sitting down already, because he honestly _never_ thought he’d see the day – Steve hasn’t willingly taken time off since his birthday, and even then he’d only opted for a long weekend that Bucky had kinda-sorta subtly nudged him into in the month leading up to it. (Never let it be said he’s lost his edge when it comes to mild emotional manipulation for the greater good. And yes, Steve’s ass in his bathing suit definitely qualifies as the greater good. Bucky had conducted a survey in group chat.) But Bucky plays it cool, or at least, tries to. The last thing he needs is to put Steve off the idea with the wrong reaction.

“How about when you’re feeling big, you talk to the other Avengers about going on vacation?” he asks casually, like this is a conversation they have frequently.

“How much vacation?”

“That’s up to you.” Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

Steve appears to mull over that for a bit and then nods. “You think s’okay?”

“You mean do I think you should take a vacation?”

“I _know_ you want me to.”

“That’s because I do.”

“Will _they_ think s’okay?”

“Steve, Tony and Sam have been telling you for _months_ that you should take some time off. So, yes, I think they’ll be okay with it. Maybe it’ll get Natasha to stop emailing us links to cruise packages for senior citizens.”

Steve laughs for the first time since yesterday. “Prob’ly not.”

“No, probably not,” Bucky agrees and plants a light kiss on Steve’s temple. “Think you might be ready to have dinner soon?”

“Yes,” Steve says, as Bucky had known he would. “Can I play first?”

“I don’t know, what’s the magic word we’re missing?” Bucky asks him.

“ _Please_ can I play first?” Steve amends.

“Yes, you may. But not before we get you changed.”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t need it, Daddy.”

“You really want to try that while you’re still sitting on my lap?” The struggle to keep his adult-in-charge expression where it’s supposed to be is _real_. Steve always tries this when he’s small and Bucky never fails to find it absolutely hilarious.

Shrug.

“What do you want to change into?”

“Um. Dunno.”

“Do you want me to choose?”

“No!” Here comes that glare that could melt concrete, a Little Steve SignatureTM. It is also hilarious.

“Do you need a moment?”

“Yes.” Steve bunches up his blanket and folds it into his arms, resting his chin on top of the bundle while he thinks.

Bucky gives him exactly two minutes as measured by the cable box and then pats Steve’s shoulder to get his attention. “Okay, love, time’s up. What did you choose?”

“Um.” Steve nibbles on his bottom lip. “Pull-up?”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“M’not,” he admits. “Help, Daddy?”

“Well, you’ve had some trouble with making it to the potty in your lion onesie, so that depends on if you want to keep wearing it or put on some different clothes.”

“Wear it.” Steve sounds much more sure this time, even nodding for emphasis.

“Then we have our answer, don’t we?”

“Uh-huh. Bears?”

“Sure.” Bucky kisses his cheek. “Can you get the changing pad and lie down for me?”

Steve nods again, then slides off Bucky’s lap to do that while Bucky grabs the necessary supplies, including the teddy bear-printed diaper Steve had asked for. He’s clean and dry and zipped back into his kigurumi in the space of just a couple of minutes and holds his arms out when done so that Bucky can carry him into the living room, favorite blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Steve even finds a pacifier in his front pocket that he puts to immediate good use as he begins constructing towers out of Duplo blocks and Legos to set the stage for an epic Matchbox car vs. dinosaur battle royale. Bucky, for his part, sprawls on the sofa and flips through the channels to put on something he won’t mind only hearing every third word of. Steve may not talk much when he’s got the paci stuffed in his mouth, but he's certainly capable of being incredibly loud regardless.

Bucky lets him play for a good half hour, glancing over every so often to keep an eye on things. He’s reluctant to tell Steve to stop now because he’s having such a good time even though it’s getting to be about the time Bucky should start making dinner. Steve might not be starving yet, but he can go from fine to hangry in about five minutes.

He gets up and taps Steve on the shoulder to get his attention. “Hey, buddy.”

Steve pauses mid-pterodactyl swoop and looks up. “Yeah, Daddy?”

“I was thinking I’d get dinner going now.” And seeing Steve’s mouth open to protest being asked to stop playing, Bucky adds, “You can stay where you are until I call you in to wash your hands and eat, okay?”

Steve relaxes into a smile. “Okay.”

“It should be about fifteen minutes until then.”

“French toast?”

“You know it.”

“An’ bacon?”

“And bacon. And some cinnamon apples to go on top, if you want.”

He brightens further. “ _Love_ cinnamon apples.”

“I know, Stevie, that’s why I made ‘em.” Bucky grins back at him and drops a kiss on the top of his head. “Just yell if you need me, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Steve immediately goes back to making the pterodactyl dive-bomb a particularly tall tower of blocks, laughing when it breaks apart and goes crashing onto the carpet.

It’s the happiest Steve’s looked since yesterday, and that thought makes Bucky feel a whole lot less like there’s an anvil settled on each of his shoulders as he heads into the kitchen to turn on the electric griddle and get everything started.

Bucky waits until the last batch of panettone French toast is almost ready before he calls out to Steve. He comes racing into the kitchen with his blanket flying behind him, haven taken the time to tie it around his neck; Steve’s now moving even more easily than before, which means he’s probably just about recovered. That’ll call for an early bedtime, Bucky surmises. Steve can heal much, much faster than the ordinary person, but the trade-off is that the accelerated process leaves him exhausted and hungry – even more so than usual. Which is also why he’s whipped up some scrambled eggs on the fly. (Eight eggs count as “some,” right?) Bucky’s kind of a dumbass, but not _that_ dumb.

“Need help washing your hands?” Bucky offers.

Steve shakes his head and moves to the sink. “I do it.”

Bucky turns on the faucet for him anyway and flips the last couple of pieces onto the platter he’s been keeping warm in the oven. “All ready!”

“All ready!” Steve echoes, rinsing the soap off his hands and giving them a shake.

“Use the towel, please,” Bucky tells him, plucking it from its hanging place on the oven door handle and passing it over.

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to.” Oh, _god_. He _is_ turning into his mother. There are worse things to be, though, Bucky reflects. From what he can remember, she’d been a pretty great mom.

Weirdly, that seems to be enough for Steve, because he does as Bucky asks and even hangs it up again instead of just leaving it wadded up on the counter as usual before he takes his seat at the table. Bucky gets Steve’s plate ready first, glad he’d decided on separate plates for just the bacon. The eggs, French toast, and cinnamon apples take up the whole thing once he’s done.

“Want me to cut your toast for you?” Bucky offers.

“Please, Daddy?”

He does and then fixes his own plate. They eat in companionable silence, Bucky occasionally refilling Steve’s plate until he stops asking for more. To Bucky’s complete lack of surprise, they do manage to actually finish the mountain of food between them. Okay, Steve finishes most of it, but Bucky’s glad anyway, because French toast is kind of hard to reheat, and eggs are a _definite_ no. Steve does help him get the dishwasher loaded without a fuss, and for that Bucky decides to let him stay up a little later than he’d been planning. 

Steve returns to the game he’d been playing before dinner, and Bucky opens his book of crossword puzzles to a new one. He figures in the time it’ll take him to complete the puzzle, Steve will probably be ready to go back to bed for the night. Bucky could use a good sleep himself; he hadn’t done so well last night, even with an extra blanket on the bed. He stretches out on the sofa while Steve reassembles a few of his Duplo towers only to have a T. rex and stegosaurus knock them down again. He makes them roar so often that Bucky hopes the batteries inside have a long life, because, uh, he’s definitely forgotten to buy more.

Bucky catches Steve’s yawn out of the corner of his eye just as he’s in the middle of sussing out the second-to-last question. Bucky swivels his head to get a better look; Steve realizes quickly that he’s been busted and makes a big show out of opening his eyes rather wide and aggressively smashing cars together.

“I think it’s time to start gathering up your toys to put them away, lovebug,” Bucky tells him anyway.

“Nooo,” Steve whines.

“Yes.”

He changes tactics, giving Bucky his best innocent-puppy expression. “Few more minutes? _Please_?”

_It’s so cute that he thinks good manners will get him out of this_ , Bucky thinks. “You can have a few more minutes, but that’ll only cut into our bedtime reading.”

“We’re gonna read?”

“I was planning on it. If you get everything put away now, we can get ready for bed and read for a while.”

Steve weighs his options for a few seconds and then starts scooping the blocks off the carpet and into their plastic bin, so Bucky guesses he has his answer there. It doesn’t take long before the floor is clear and the bins are stashed where they ought to be, and Steve holds his arms out to be picked up and carried. Bucky’s happy to oblige, settling him on his hip for the short trip into the bathroom, where he gets Steve’s toothbrush ready and nighttime antidepressant set out before doing the same thing for himself, the only difference being that Bucky takes two tablets to Steve’s one.

“Why don’t you pick out a book while I go potty, kiddo?” Bucky suggests.

Steve grins and practically zooms out of the bathroom, and when Bucky emerges into the bedroom, the book’s on the night stand and Steve’s lying down on the changing pad, pacifier already retrieved and in his mouth.

“Is this your way of telling me you need a change, Stevie?”

“Mm-hm.”

Bucky laughs, pausing to ruffle Steve’s hair before grabbing an overnight diaper to change him into. Once that’s done, Bucky peels back the covers so they can both get into bed. Steve cuddles up to him right away, a warm and solid presence smelling of green-apple shampoo and baby powder. Bucky would bottle it up if he could.

“Hmm. _Matilda_?” Bucky asks, picking up the book.

“’Tilda, Daddy,” Steve affirms.

“Haven’t we already read this one?”

“Yeah. Again?”

“If you’re sure.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve smiles, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Okay, then.” Bucky opens the paperback, glad he’d already cracked the spine. “’It’s a funny thing about mothers and fathers…’” he starts.

Bucky probably shouldn’t have been concerned about Steve’s ability to pay attention to something he’s already had read to him, because he pays rapt attention – right up until he falls asleep, just as Matilda’s acquiring a parrot that will scare the life out of her horrible parents. He closes the book and eases Steve into a lying-down position that’s more conducive to Bucky having feeling in his right shoulder, then turns off the light and lies down as well. He’s asleep within minutes.

\--

Bucky wakes up with the sun in his eyes because Steve, damn him, has already opened the curtains. Asshole. It's the crack of dawn, practically.

“Steve, what the fuck?” he complains.

“Slacker,” Steve answers with a teasing grin. “It’s already nine.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve _definitely_ slept away the entire morning. I bet you’ve already been out for your stupid morning run and showered. Fuckin’ show-off.”

“You bet,” he answers cheerfully. “I brought home some bagels, if that makes you feel any better.”

Bucky eyes him warily. “How many onion bagels?”

“None, the shop was out. Sorry.”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

“What _is_ it with you and onion bagels, Buck?”

“Your onion breath.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but whatever he’s about to say gets pre-empted by a chime. He picks up the phone from his nightstand, unlocks the screen, and starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“So, I told everyone that I’m going on vacation for a couple of months effective immediately, and they’ve been meme-ing the fuck out of me all morning.”

Knock _him_ over with a feather. “Wait, a couple of months?”

Steve grins. “Yeah, why not?”

“I’m not complaining, Steve. What do you want to do first?”

“Well, Natasha _did_ send me that link to a Carnival cruise for seniors looking to get a taste of the Caribbean…”


End file.
